Ever and Anon
by The Fairweather League
Summary: It was true that America and Japan were good friends, yes, but they were not two peas in a pod. They had their differences, but it never showed. Not even when Japan agrees to America's ridiculous plan to solve global warming. England, struggling with this revelation, deems it to question Japan on where his feelings lie, but ways do not turn out as planned. Ameripan/asakiku/USUK


**Okay, I need to say firstly that this wasn't my idea; it was from the Hetalia kink meme asking "Another country notices Japan agreeing with America's idea and gets jealous. That country takes Japan out for a drink, they get roaring drunk, and then eventually a threesome occurs."**

**Man, those requests are so _fun _to fill out though! **

**I'm kind of getting into the whole England x Japan x America threesome, yeah, but this is more of a one-time thing. I do like asakiku now, and I just need one more little push to start shipping ameripan. **

**Letters written in _italics _are Japanese. Sometimes.**

**Current word count: 5,820**

**Disclaimer: Hetalia, obviously, is not mine. Nor is this prompt.**

* * *

"Dude, I think the World Conference can convene! Solving all of today's problems by talking excessively; no matter how hard it seems we can fix anything with enough meetings and photo-ops!"

America grinned childishly down at them all, for he had suddenly stood in the passion of his awe-inspiring speech, and plowed on with not even a chance to catch his breath; that country never seemed to lose his energy.

Though America and a few others seemed to take real meaning in each country's speech, even though no other nation but the young blonde had stood to speak yet, most of the countries in the room were not paying the slightest attention. Norway sat in his isolated corner of the room, picking cheekily at his nails and examining them as if they were the most interesting thing one could possibly come across, and Iceland stood opposite of the blue eyed, light haired man he did not really consider his brother. He, too, seemed to take no interest in America's words. Greece lay in his chair at the table, asleep, a bit of drool running down his mouth.

"Feel free to speak honestly while protecting your chances for re-election! I'll go first: About that whole using global warming to enslave humanity thing, _I think_ we'll be okay if we genetically engineer a huge hero and have it protect the Earth: I give you … The Superhero Globa-man!"

Smiling that happy smile of his, America pointed towards a rectangular painting (obviously America's best work so far) of a painted portrait of what the majority of the listening countries present assumed to be some sort of … _hero. _It was extremely difficult to tell, though, as what could safely be said as the legs resembled big towers of expired jelly instead of flesh, and the "man" did not have a face, only a big, cylindrical white beam.

In the painting, the man, all dressed in red like Superman or Wonder Man, had his floppy-looking arms wrapped around a squiggly-lined ball that kind of resembled the Earth. But it was olive and brown instead of blue and green. England frowned at it.

"I agree with America," a voice spoke up, almost immediately after America had finished his "stunning" speech. China and England glanced up, China with dark, glazed eyes, and England with sharp ones.

Japan, with his usual emotionless gaze, did not seem too embarrassed at agreeing with something of the caliber America had just spoken, but he did lower his eyes slightly.

A fist beat upon the hollow wood conference table beside Japan, drawing the attention away from the Asian country. "Man up or I'll beat you with my Peace Prize!" Switzerland said impatiently at America (or Japan; it was hard to tell), looking frustrated as always.

"There's no way some hero will help global warming or humanity's enslavement," England piped up, still with that same grimace plastered on his face, clear green gaze flickering from America to Japan. America didn't pay England much mind, as his focus was quickly drawn to the Frenchmen sitting very unwisely close to England.

"If Britain and America don't agree, how can I be superior be dissing them both?" France coaxed smoothly, messing with his long blonde hair and smirking.

England stood up, suddenly furious. "I concourt!"

Now, instead of a real smile, America slapped on a tense little simper and walked up to France, started to poke him with his pen, (England joined in and started to smack at France's head) and laughed. "You Frenchies sure love to hate America. Why not go back to making us hot green chick statues like you used to?"

Suddenly a new voice appeared in the ever-growing strained atmosphere. "Western nations are so immature. I doubt they'll ever grow up. Maybe I can try appealing to them with the only offer that ever works." China didn't seem to notice that everyone was listening into his mumbling. He held up a basket (where it came from or why China carried around a bunch of sweets was anyone's guess) and tried a welcoming smile, but his jaw twitched. This is used to work with the children, and Westerns weren't really that different from children, except that they were bigger and more immature. "Would you guys like to sample some Chinese tasty treat?"

England and France, now fighting and kicking up dust in the formerly-spotless room, punched and smacked at each other, and without looking at China, they both shouted in ironic unison, "We'll just get ugly again!"

China sighed and rolled his eyes. He put the basket down on the table in front of him and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dimly, England heard Russia and Spain start up conversation, and it almost occurred to him to listen in, but that thought was quickly killed off as France sent an excellent punch at England's right ear. England bit back a hiss of pain, and he resisted the temptation to feel at his now ringing ear; it stung unbelievably. Instead, he glared at France and groped at the neck of his "nemesis's" shirt, pulled him upwards, and landing a good _whack _on top of the French's blonde head. France put his hands over his head and began to scream and curse at England for "mussing his hair and leaving a bulge behind."

The room was soon in complete and total chaos. Lithuania, Estonia, and Latvia were once again being subjected to Russia's subconscious torture, Russia thinking that they were all having a great time, just as always. America, along with China, sat by and watched France and England's brawl like it was a cinema movie, the fighters in question shouting and swearing at each other. A few countries like Spain and Japan and Switzerland sat in their seats, waiting for the battles and discussions to draw out. Greece was still sleeping.

In all the commotion, nobody noticed a white hand curl in upon itself, nor did they see that fist's owner stand to his dauntingly full height.

"_EVERYONE SHUT UP_!" Germany yelled with tremendous force, glaring daggers at his fellows and pounding his fist loudly on the table. As if frozen in time, everyone _did _stop.

"Germany?!" France and England said, stunned at the unexpected intrusion. Both of their hands were clutched at each other's throats, and they suddenly put them down stiffly to their sides and trudged obediently over to their assigned seats under Germany's stare, knowing by instinct that it was the best thing to do.

A muscle in Germany's jaw twitched, and he said lowly, commandingly, "We've called this conference to solve the world's problems. Not to fight about the problem's of our past. And since _I'm_ the only country who seems to know how to run a meeting, we'll follow my rules from here on out. Eight minutes each for speeches. No chit-chat about side-deals. And absolutely no going over the time limit. Now, if you want to go, make sure you're prepared and raise your hand. But do so in a way that does _not _mock any salutes of my country's past."

Oddly enough, North Italy was the first to raise his hand, expression dreamy as usual and eyes opening.

"Germany recognizes his friend Italy."

Italy put single hand into the air, respectfully, of course, and cried to the air, "_Paasssttttaaa!"_

Once again, China buried his face into his hands out of humiliation, and muttered something in Mandarin. Germany put his great blonde head down, a few thick strands of hair escaping from its courted place, losing all of its former neatness, and sighed.

Italy, being the loveable little rascal that he is, did not notice the confusion or the embarrassment he had caused, and went on happily to talk about pasta and gourmet Italian foods, bright eyes shining happily.

This was really the only problem with meetings. Nobody could keep their thoughts fine-tuned. Nobody spoke, and even when somebody did pipe up, it was always to say something ridiculous and stupid. Italy did not usually speak, but when he did, he spoke the loudest.

Miraculously, though, at least to his own standards, England was able to tune out the remainder of the meeting, even the few stretches of time when Germany was speaking, and Germany usually always got his meaning across quite successfully, and with little to no trouble in the process. He, England, was the truly lucky one of the day.

No. Instead of finding interest in the few eight-minute speeches, England found his thoughts stray to another topic. Two of them, actually.

His eyes drifted occasionally onto Japan, and in a part of the other stretch of time, it was America that his gaze would lock onto.

Why would Japan, of all people, agree to such a ludicrous idea? Use a super-human being to stop global warming? Please. It was bad enough that he had to hear that sort of rubbish come from America's mouth, but from Japan, too? It made no sense.

None at all… Unless, of course, Japan fancied…

But, wait, no. That idea was even more ridiculous than America's original one to stop global warming. Japan? Fancy America? How utterly stupid.

_But,_ England thought, very unwillingly to himself, _it would make sense._

Now that England really stopped to think about it (for he always took it upon himself not to worm into his peers business), Japan always did seem eager to be around with America; to please him, like a child looking for praise from a parent. In a way, if England didn't stop to think about it, the way that Japan followed with America's ideals so unwaveringly was almost cute. That is, if Japan's loyalty wasn't seen as romantic…

Oddly enough, England felt a small seed of jealousy unfurl at the thought of America. Why would Japan even have any interest in him? It wasn't as though their recent history had been all that friendly. And besides, hadn't it been him, England, who had gotten to Japan first? It was the very same with America, too. He had raised the blonde country. They were as close as one could possibly even get.

Inwardly, England told himself to stop acting like a child.

_Don't jump to conclusions, _England said to himself, the words seeming gruff in his mind, _it's probably nothing._

And yet England couldn't shake the feeling of unease away.

Later, at the end of the meeting when everyone was filing out and grumbling to themselves, England caught sight of Japan and started to walk his way. Japan noticed, and stopped to wait politely for the blonde man to catch up, other taller countries walking around the paused Asian nation.

"Hey, Japan," England greeted, casually enough. He kept his posture as Japan nodded to him. "I was thinking, if you were free tonight, that is, if you wanted to go out for a late-night drink? I'd pay."

Japan, though he seemed a little taken aback by such an unexpected request, nodded, and managed a small, too business-like smile. It wasn't as sincere as England might've wanted. "Hai, England-san. I am free. What time did you have in mind? Where do you want to go?"

"I hadn't really thought about that," England said, before he could catch the words, and he instantly regretted them. He swallowed, mildly uncomfortable, and continued, "Maybe the Winchester? It's not too far from here; just a few miles from my house. You could just stay at my place until you want to go, then you could go home, if you wanted to."

Japan considered this for a moment, topaz eyes pondering, and then he said, "_Hai. _I'll go."

* * *

"Thank you again, England-san, for taking me out like this," Japan said politely, smiling slightly and lifting up his drink, a bottle of plain old beer, to his lips.

"It's no problem, Japan, really. Thanks for coming; I need the company, and I've got the time," England replied.

The Winchester wasn't a particularly fancy place, but it was beneficial for a good time, especially if one fancied the quieter, more run-down places. There were four pale yellow windows on the front wall, a battered wooden door separating them by twos, dim light from the streets shining into the dusty old bar. In the left corner beside a set of rectangular tables stood a single jukebox, but its lights were off, and it didn't seem to be plugged in. Since it was such a small place, almost cramped, there were only six other tables in the room, each the same size.

Four other people sat at a table in the middle table, playing aces or gambling by the looks of it. Japan and England sat at the bar. There was a Billy Joel song playing on a small radio on the surface of the bar: Piano Man.

They had already ordered their drinks, Japan, a run-in-the-mill beer, and England, a scotch. A man with thin gray hair like iron stood opposite of them behind the bar, cleaning empty glass bottles and cups robotically. He did not seem to really notice them after they had bought their drinks.

England picked up the bottle of whiskey that had been given to him, and poured it into a small glass that sat beside him; he, measuring it with a usual preciseness for someone of his caliber. He picked it up with careful fingers and gently swirled it, coating a thin layer of drink on the inner skin of the glass. Then he gingerly took sniffed it, and took a small sip, his nose scrunching up slightly.

He brought the cup down.

"So, Japan, I haven't really got the chance to talk to you," England started out pleasantly, "How are you? Personally, I mean. Not Japan, but, you know…_you._"

Japan took another drink. "I'm fine, England-san. It's been a little stressful, but still, I have had some good pockets of time." He shrugged.

Reviewing him attentively, England steepled his fingers and gave Japan an intense stare. Japan looked up from his drink, slightly discomforted.

"But I just didn't ask you for a drink to talk with you," England said, trying not to appear too pushy. Japan looked on with a patient expression on his face. "I wanted to, well, there's no point in lying about it or trying to get you drunk; I'll be blunt and get it over with, but, do you … have a _thing _for America?"

Japan went instantly pink (something that England would have normally taken as a "yes," but in Japan's case you could never really tell), and hastily said, "No! No, I mean, we are friends, I think that's the best way to say it, but, we're not involved, or together. Really."

The small island country unconsciously fiddled with his fingers, eventually grabbing the handle of his drink so as to steady his hand, and he shifted in his leather seat. England wasn't sure whether or not to take this as conformation; wouldn't Japan have done the exact same thing with any other country, if he was asked that question?

_This'll be a long night._

"Never mind," England apologized, waving the subject away with a careless hand. "Sorry. It's not really all that important."

Japan nodded, and out of mild embarrassment, he took a particularly long jug of beer. His cheeks went even redder.

Seeing this, England sighed and drained the rest of his scotch (without adding any water), and he didn't bother to pour another cup. He just drank from the bottle.

This went on for several more moments, and after England set down his half-empty bottle of whiskey, the bartender looked up.

* * *

"Aaamaazzziinngg gracccceeee, how sweet the ssooouuunnnddd, to a wretch like mmeeee~"

England put one floppy arm messily around Japan's slim shoulders, grinning stupidly, and hummed loudly as Japan joined in with England. "I was once lost but nnnooowww I ammm ffoounnd … Hey, England-chan, what were the lyrics 'gain? Something like, um … Mizz Grace felt relieved?"

Japan put his arm (with some difficulty, as England was much taller than him) around England's shoulders, and he, too, began to grin, like he was out of his senses. Then he rested his head onto England's chest, raven hair scattering messily over the blonde's uniform.

Stretching and unconsciously pushing Japan away, England threw his hands up into the air and closed his eyes, only to have them snap open suddenly. He laughed in a very America-like manner, and said excitedly, "Yeah! Yeah, _that_, _those, _were the lyrics! I remember now; then the other part was…er, I think it was "I have yet to come." Yeah. Yeah, that was it, all right. I have yet to come! Yay!"

"_We have yet to come_!" Japan yelled loudly into the air. A few people sitting at the other tables turned to stare at them with mixed expressions of both disgust and amusement, as the two men were obviously drunk. One of the guys at a nearby table shouted back in reply, "Yeah! Woo, you get it _on_!"

It was safe to assume that he was drunk, too.

Hacking slightly and draining the last remaining bit of scotch in his bottle, beads of auburn liquor sliding down his chin, his white collar t-shirt turning amber with whiskey, England frowned and said, "Heyyy, Japan?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are we singing America's national anthem? I mean, it just doesn't make _sense!_ Does it? I don't think it does. Do you?"

Japan giggled girlishly and leaned against the bar, his beer bottle tipping down towards the ground, but no beer came out.

"No, actually, _it doesn't._ What do you make of it, England-chan?"

"What do I make of it?" England said, confused. "Nothing. Whas that supposed to mean, you bloody old bastard? Isn't nothing to make of America, 'specially Alfred. He's an open book, that one. You don't _need _to guess with him; he'll just tell you outright."

"Ah, you don't mean that, England-chan," Japan teased playfully, breaking the physical boundaries that he usually put up and poked England lightly in the ribs. "You'll like one thing about him. _Hai?_

"Personally," Japan continued, sobering up enough to think of all of America's endearing qualities, "I, for one, think (nah, I _know_) that there has never, never _ever _been dimples like the one he 'as. Always smiling! Who knew it was even possible. And taffy nipples, too!"

"Yeah, you're right he's got dimples…" England chuckled, showing his white teeth. "He's got … the _cutest _dimples … rrright above his asscheeks!"

At once, Japan and England swiveled to meet each other's gaze, eyes widening as if they had uttered some sort of filthy swear word, and then they spontaneously burst out laughing. England, one hand covering his cherry-red face and pounding his fist on the bar; Japan, putting his head down on the sparkling wooden bar, face covered and crying he was laughing so hard, his tears soiling the once spotless wood.

Gasping for breath, England wiped at his eyes in a very undignified way, and said, "Whatchoo laughing for, you mangy twat? Huh? It's true and you know it! I had to take care of the little scat since he was just a kitten, and he had the cutest face back then! Adorable, really; even more so than now. Too bad he had to grow up to actually be, well, _American._"

That little remark just made Japan laugh harder. By now the poor country looked like he was going to throw up; his face was impossibly red, and there were tiny beads of sweat rolling down his face. England smiled.

"S-shut up!" Japan wheezed, trying, without much success, to control himself.

"Oh, wait, wait, wait, wait," England interrupted, guffawing. "Shut up and breathe, Japan; I've got another one."

England put a hand on his waist, already grinning with anticipation. "How many American tourists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"I-I don't know."

"Fifteen. Five to figure out how much the bulb costs in the local currency, four to comment on "how funny-looking" local light bulbs are, three to hire a local person to change the bulb, two to take pictures, and one to buy postcards in case the pictures don't come out."

This was too much for Japan. Clutching at his chest, he burst into hysterical laughter, and had to lean on the bar to keep himself from falling over; his arms shook.

"Okay, okay … Next one … What's the difference between Americans and the engines of the jets on which they travel abroad?"

Japan didn't even bother to answer (not that he could've without throwing up), and England did not hesitate…

"After they land, the engines of the jets quit whining!"

A red-haired woman who had previously been in an intense-looking conversation with a nearby male fellow, grinded her teeth together and turned around in her seat to glare at what looked to be a hyperventilating Japanese man, and a blonde Englishmen, both poking fun at matters ought not to be poked at.

Abruptly, chair squeaking, she stood from her seat, gave Japan and England and extremely dirty look, then another one at the man sitting opposite of her, and left for the door, slamming it shut behind her so hard that England was surprised the glass panel on it didn't break.

"Jeez, no sense of humor, ah, Japan?" England said, pointing toward the door where the woman had just left. "I thought American were supposed to be fun.

"Oi! 'Scuse me very much, bartender, but could 'ya maybe get me s'more to drink? Vodka'd be nice!"

The bartender, who had tried his best not to appear as though he was sneaking in on their conversation, stared at England in surprise.

"What? But you haven't finished the scotch yet! Adding vodka in with it? What are you, Russian?"

"Fuck no I'm not _Russian_!" England scowled. "And why would you complain about serving extra drinks? The more the merrier, right? You tryin' to make a business, or what?"

Shaking his head and eyes wide with a very crude disbelief at these particularly loud customers, the bartender went into a cabinet out of Japan and England's sight, and returned quickly with a clear-looking bottle of vodka.

"Russia's finest," he said dully, turning away from the pair of them and filling glasses that would seem to be served to no one in particular.

"Thank you!"

"_Arigatou gozaimasu_!"

"But really," England muttered, like he didn't want anyone to hear him. His tone suddenly become more serious, though there was still that drunkenness in his eyes. "America turned out to be not at all like I would've wanted … He's just … I still like him; I like him a lot, but, it's hard to love him, you know?"

Japan nodded sympathetically, putting on what was supposed to be a mask of empathy, but it turned out more like a raw smile, and patted England's shoulder.

"_Hai_."

England grinned once again, and yawned loudly and obviously, grabbing the neck of his bottle of vodka and popping the top off, and using his other hand to clutch at Japan's smaller one. Japan didn't seem to mind. Or he didn't notice.

"But, you know," England said, voice becoming oddly husky, "Alfred may be a soft little motherfucker, he doesn't get drunk easy, you can say that, mate, but you sure as fuck do. And you're bottle isn't even half empty!"

"You can't say that to me without including yourself, England-chan," Japan murmured back, tightening his hold on the British man's hand as the other started to rub the inside of his palm with the flat of his thumb suggestively. "You're no good at holding liquor either. Least of all _vodka."_

Just as Japan said that, England took a long, deep swig of the bottle of Russian Water in his other hand, and looked Japan in the eyes, if only to make a point. Japan did not blush, but he did smile.

"You wanna hit this joint, Japan?"

"Yes, England-chan."

And so they finally departed, too close to each other, and with too bright smiles on their faces.

* * *

America stood at the door of the lit back porch, the black wood under him seeming almost yellow mixed with the dark, penetrating night sky. Stars shown like tiny dots of white, fluorescent paint in the air; so close that it felt like you could touch them, never mind the basic laws of physics. The air smelt of freshly picked flowers and honey-soaked dew, and the wind blew a pleasant gust of air into his face, causing America's hair to swirl around his cheeks without getting into his eyes.

America could look into the dauntingly beautiful night and appreciate it, appreciate such things that he would never notice, but the details that he knew both China and Japan had come to love for the entirety of their existence.

It really was a truly perfect night.

The only thing that could possibly make it better was if Japan and England would actually show up.

He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, now: at least a half hour, or an hour.

Japan and England had scheduled for America to stay with them in England's home not too long after the World Conference had ended. Or, England did, anyway. Something that he wanted to tell him, but he couldn't say it until he knew for sure.

That was when his former brother had dropped the bomb: he and Japan were going out to drink. Of course America had protested, not because he didn't want them to have fun or anything (nah, what kind of hero did that?), but because England didn't invite him to tag along. America had been very hurt at the thought of exclusion (and he still was slightly, admittedly), but when England had told him that what he had to find out actually _involved _America, and that Japan was the whole reason he was going out to drink anyway, America had backed down a bit.

It took a while to convince America that _no_, he wasn't trying to get anything crucial to the war from Japan (America knew he was supposed to hate Japan, but he just couldn't, and he didn't want to make Japan uncomfortable or have anything happen to him), and _no_, they didn't not care about him. In the end America succumbed, and told England that he'd be waiting. He said good-bye to Japan, too.

America had done nothing of real importance. Just read the newspaper and a few dusty old books on a shelf in England's sitting room, although the only reason America had even approached the shelves was that he was hoping to find some sort of trapdoor when you pull a book, just like in the movies, but he had had no such luck. All he found was yellowed pages written with words that he did not and could not understand.

After a fair bit of time, when the sun had already set, he had gone out to the patio for some air. England's home was surprisingly stuffy, not like their old manor back in the old days…

But just as this thought came to America and just before he could get lost in it, he suddenly heard voices. Drunken ones; one was easily recognizable as English, and the other was heavily accented in Japanese.

_They're back!_

Wasting no time, (for his back had been terribly sore after leaning on the railings overlooking the forest that stood beside England's home) America pounced over the patio, throwing his legs up into the air and almost flipping mid-jump; he landed nimbly on his feet, and ran toward the two figures.

"Japan! England! You're finally back; took you long enough!" America laughed, eyes and mouth grinning.

But as the figures drew nearer and nearer, they suddenly become more devious. Not in appearance, no, but there was still something … _off _about them. It was very discomforting, but America, as the hero (and a fool-hardy one at that) just shook it off, dismissing it as his late-night imagination.

"Guys..?"

There was still no answer in reply, but as the words slipt from America's mouth, both Japan's and England's faces came into huge contrast, their faces both pale and their eyes that of a drunks'.

"America!" England yipped, words slurred. Japan slid against him and half fell down, and it was then that America noticed a hand wrapped sneakily around the Asian's waist. One that was easy to identify as England's. "We were just talking about you, old jammy!"

Japan nodded into England's side, looking extremely happy. Which, Alfred thought to himself, he probably actually was, since he was obviously dead-drunk.

Leering like an idiot, England effortlessly pulled Japan along with him by the waist (but in his drunken haze he was still careful not to hurt the small island country), and before America really knew what was happening, England had caught him in a surprisingly strong grip as well, and was pulling him towards the open door of the house. He did not ask why the door to his home was wide open in the middle of the night; he just accepted it, which made America even more nervous.

Not that he wouldn't have been able to take down England if need be, but he still didn't want to have to hurt his brother.

"Right, then!" England said loudly once he had successfully pushed both Japan, who was now hanging off of America's shoulder like an over-large coat, and America into the house. "I don't like to screw around, and I don't like to sugarcoat things either, as you all well know, so I'll just get to the point: we're all here, two of us are drunk, and nobody else is around. Whad'ya say to that, huh, guys?"

"That we'll have to share a bed?" Japan answered teasingly. America stared at him in disbelief, but England smiled.

"You're getting closer."

"Do we need to buy more wine?"

"Ahaha … well…" England took his eyes off of Japan, only to lock them on America's nervous teal ones. And then, with no warning at all, England leaned in to America's face so that he was only millimeters away from the other's face (something they were both aware of), and he kissed America full on the mouth.

America's eyes went wide as saucers that it was a surprise they didn't pop out of their sockets. America did nothing to lead England on or encourage him, but neither did he protest against the persistent lips that were pressed against his own.

Dimly, America heard Japan say, "Drunken threesome, yay!"

Now that little remark snapped America out of his stupor.

"What! No. No! Look, you," America said sternly, finger shaking slightly as he pointed it at a smirking England, "No threesome! No sex, okay!"

"Ah, but America—"

"End of story!"

America, who had just been about to get up to leave, stopped in his tracks as he felt small, nimble fingers touch his arm gently. He turned his head with some amount of hesitancy to see Japan.

But not the hidden, almost cold Japan that he knew. This one had pleading eyes, begging to just hear them out, and hair that looked impossibly soft to touch. His lips seemed so pink and soft. It was hard to for America to believe that Japan had been laughing and completely out-of-it just a minute ago; now he looked completely sober. It was like he had gone through some sort of transformation, like a pokemon.

"Please, America-chan," Japan said softly. America felt his heart beat. He'd never been called "chan" before. "We are both here, and there's no force, really, so if you didn't want to…"

Japan then moved to sit against America's chest, the smaller straddling his lap. Japan moved a hand onto America's rapidly beating heart, and pushed his face into America's neck, starting to suck and kiss the tanned flesh gently.

And that did it. America's conscience knew it wasn't right, both England and Japan were drunk, but Japan was so achingly soft…

Their mission complete, England grinned wickedly and moved to sandwich Japan between both him and America. America blushed as Japan nipped playfully at his neck, and as Japan shifted from his neck, England moved to smash his mouth against America's, taking no shame in it at all as he kissed America and wrapped his arms around both his and Japan's waist.

"H-how long will this take?" America moaned, breathing heavily as England moved to unbutton his shirt, a difficult feet as Japan was still sitting on America's chest.

England had no kindness on his face, only devilish features could be seen in his eyes. He kissed America's neck, feeling a great sense of accomplishment as he felt the bigger country shiver beneath him.

"As long as it needs to take."

The next morning arrived quickly; a bit too quickly for America's tastes, anyway.

Sure, his backside felt like it was on fire, and sure Japan would probably be too embarrassed to look them in the eye for the next two years, but all in all, that night had been worth it.

That was what America was thinking as England turned to him, the elder's face coated in red, and said, "I'm sorry, America. I really am. I promise not to mention this to a single soul."

And then he was gone. Japan had left earlier, probably when he had turned sober, and neither America nor England had gotten the chance to say anything to him.

But, despite England's stuttering, furious apologies, America was going to ignore them.

The night had been absolutely perfect.


End file.
